Scarlet Women, Scarlet Blood
by Gabriel's Lil Bitch
Summary: Sam catches Dean selling his body. His response is less than positive. Naturally, Dean goes and makes some bad decisions. Can Scarlett be trusted or is something more sinister at work? (The author would like to apologise for sounding like a cliché. She will be removed and replaced with one who knows how to summarise) Warnings: Torture, prostitution, really graphic torture


**Okay, so. This ****_did not_**** go how I expected. I don't even… It was meant to be angsty, brotherly stuff… Help! I went weird! Anyway, please read. I kinda have no idea what to make of this… Ehhhhhhh **

**The author would like to apologise for knowing nothing about prostitution. She probably won't be removed and replaced by someone who hires prostitutes.**

Sex had always been easy for Dean. He liked it. It was just something he did to enjoy himself. Other people might read a book or listen to music; Dean went out and fucked someone. It was simple.

He liked anyone and anything. No preferences when it came to body type, race, hair colour, Hell, he couldn't even give a crap about gender. He was willing to go with anything his partner liked; he had very few boundaries when it came to kinks. Cosplay, lingerie, BDSM, food sex… he had been there and done that.

His indifference was what had led to the idea of using it to procure money in the first place. Dean was well aware that his moral compass was… wonky, to say the least. He killed things for a living; he was bound to have a different set of ground rules in his mind than other people. In his head, selling his body was not as bad an offence as stealing some poor bastard's money without giving anything back. And anyway, he enjoyed it, or so he kept telling himself.

He knew that Sam would disagree with what he did, so he had kept his activities quiet. He tried to avoid taking his brother to bars that he had recently worked if he could. Tonight, he had failed in that task.

The two Winchesters were sat at the bar together, Sam flirting with the cute barmaid and Dean surreptitiously peering around for anyone he might be recognised by. There were a few. There was the guy he had jacked off in the toilets, Dean hadn't known he was a regular, and a couple of girls who had flirted with him, but refused when they realised he was also in it for the money.

He accidentally caught the eye of one of the girls, who beckoned him with a single, sultry finger and a cheeky wink. Dean shook his head slightly, turning back to Sam and hoping she got the message that he wasn't working tonight. After a few seconds he snuck a glance back over his shoulder and swore internally. Apparently his message hadn't been received; she had got up and was heading towards him and Sam.

She looked about twenty seven, short and curvy with a wildly curly head of brunette hair. She strode towards them confidently. Dean swallowed. This could only go wrong.

"Hey, sweetie… Mind if I take you up on the offer you made last night?" She whispered into his ear, running a hand down his back. Sam looked away from chatting up the barmaid to give Dean a 'so that's what you were up to yesterday' face. Dean gave him a weak smile back and opened his mouth to tell the girl he wasn't interested. She placed a finger firmly on his lips and he found himself staring at her blood-red talon-like finger nail. "Don't worry; I have the money this time."

Dean's entire mind melted down to one thought: _oh, fuck me, sammy's gonna have my ass._

He shut his eyes for a second, steeling himself, and then turned slowly to face his brother. Sam's face was almost exactly as he'd pictured it, disgust, pity, shock and anger warring until they settled into a mixture of the four that made Dean feel about an inch tall.

Obviously sensing the sudden tension, the girl behind him backed off hurriedly, muttering something offensive about 'damn whores and their family issues'. The barmaid was also staring at him as though she didn't see how someone as sick and perverted as him could be related to someone as _obviously _made of rainbows and honey as Sam Goddamned Winchester, the fucking ex- demon blood junkie. Not that the barmaid knew about that.

"You've been whoring yourself out?" Sam's voice was an accusing hiss, his eyes steely, but also devastatingly sad. "Are you serious, Dean?"

Looking into his brother's face, Dean couldn't find the words to justify himself. So he spat at Sam angrily. "Oh shut the hell up. You don't know anything. So I decided to use something that I _enjoy _to make us some money! You've done worse shit with Ruby, so don't you dare go all 'holier than thou' on my ass." Sam looked at him pityingly, like he had any right to feel pity for Dean. At least he didn't need to be locked in the goddamned panic room.

"We're leaving now." Sam said, grasping Dean's elbow and hauling him towards the exit.

"Let go of me Sammy! I get it. We're gonna go back to the motel and have a goddamned heart-to-heart and maybe even a fucking chick flick moment, if you're really lucky." He sneered. Sam simply rolled his eyes and continued to drag Dean down the empty street towards their motel.

Xxx

The door slammed violently behind them as the two Winchesters stormed into their room one after the other. Dean opened his mouth to start speaking but Sam silenced him with an angry, betrayed stare. Damn those fucking cow eyes. Pushing the shorter man to sit on the sagging bed and standing in front of him, Sam began to talk.

"Dean. Look at me." He said, quite calmly when Dean took the fire in his eyes into consideration. "I want to understand. Really, I do. Just tell me when and why and how I didn't know. I know you think I'm being unreasonable, but please, I just want to _help_ you."

Looking at the sadness in Sam's eyes Dean was almost tempted to tell him everything. All of the little details about the dozens of people he'd fucked for cash. How guilty he felt at stealing other people's stuff and how this had seemed like the best option. But then he thought about Ruby and the demon blood and Sam's own moral history and decided that, really, he didn't owe his brother any kind of explanation.

"Fuck off Sam. You want to know when? Since before Dad died! You want to know why? Because we need money and I like sex. Why not? You want to know how you didn't know? Maybe you just weren't looking." Dean stood up suddenly. "Now I'm leaving for a few days so you can think it over, but this isn't a bad thing Sam. It just isn't." He grabbed his keys from the side and stormed out.

Xxx

As he sped down the high street Dean tried to keep the guilt from eating at his stomach. What he'd told Sam wasn't _exactly _true. He had only done it a few times before Dad died, and only when they were particularly desperate. He had only started turning tricks regularly after coming back from Hell.

Spotting a seedy-looking bar nestled in a dingy street corner, Dean pulled over. This looked like a good place to grab a few beers and make a little money. He took a long drag from the whiskey he had in the glove compartment and stepped confidently out of the car.

Walking inside he saw that it was, indeed, one of the least classy bars he had worked at, but he wasn't bothered. That just meant more desperate buggers willing to pay for his time.

Xxx

Dean rarely went home with any of the people he slept with, but this woman had insisted. And she was willing to pay well, so he went almost eagerly. She was gorgeous too, which didn't hurt, tall with sleekly braided black hair and smooth cocoa skin. She carried herself with an almost arrogant confidence and grace, pulling hungry eyes to follow her. Dean had wondered what such a gorgeous, well dressed woman was doing in the dirty little bar, but now he just accepted that she had been there and she had chosen him to have mind-blowing sex.

She had directed the Impala to a large three-story house in the richer part of the city. Dean had parked her in the spacious garage and allowed himself to be led into the house. It was exactly as he had expected; cream walls and minimalist décor everywhere. No sign of a husband or children, which was good because Dean had always refused to sleep with people who had partners or spouses.

"The sofa, honey. Quick now," The woman whispered in his ear. Her voice was rich and velvety, matching with her appearance. The sofa it was then, by no means one of the weirder places he'd had sex. He slid onto the sofa and waited for her to make the first move. "What's your name, honey?" She whispered seductively, slipping her dress from her shoulders.

"Dean." He muttered in reply, his dick taking much more of an interest in the gradually exposed skin than her words. The dress fell to the floor, completely revealing her red lacy underwear. Yep, she was smokin'. This was guaranteed to be a very good night.

"That's good. I'm Scarlett." She said. It was a good name for her, Dean decided as she stalked towards him, equally classy and sultry. He jumped at the feeling of hands on his shoulders, pushing him backwards into the sofa. "Now you're going to do exactly what I tell you and we'll have a very good night."

Xxx

It had indeed been a very good night. Scarlett had slipped into sleep after three hours of very hot sex, though Dean was still wide awake, having taught himself long ago never to fall asleep in someone else's home. She hadn't yet paid him and he didn't have the heart to wake her, so he decided to explore the rest of her home, sure that he'd find nothing of interest whatsoever. From what he had seen, Scarlett was a successful suburban business woman, who just happened to enjoy brain-meltingly excellent sex at the weekends.

Slipping quietly off the sofa and pulling on his t-shirt and jeans, he padded towards the stairs to the second floor. Silent as a ghost, he went upstairs. It was much the same as the first floor; another sitting room, this one containing a futon rather than a sofa, one bedroom, he presumed it was Scarlett's, and a luxurious bathroom. Dean was tempted to go into the bedroom, but decided to respect her privacy.

He decided to see if there was anything notable on the third floor instead.

The first room was a study. Not much to be gleaned from it except that Scarlett was meticulously organised and that her real name was Lucy Scarlett Parker, nice enough but he could see why she had chosen to go by Scarlett. The next room was a guest bedroom. The most interesting room, however, was at the end of the hall.

It had been locked when Dean first tried it. He'd quickly pilfered a hairpin from Scarlett's bedroom downstairs and picked the lock. When he had first opened the door his only thought had been _well, that's kinky_ but he hadn't been worried. He had seen larger collections of whips, gags and chains before. Hell, he had _used _larger collections. But the longer he looked, the more sinister it seemed.

That ropes wrapped around the chair in the centre of the room; were those stains innocent, or could that possibly be blood? That knife in the corner too. Not to mention the weird scratches down the sides of the chair.

Dean decided suddenly that it was time to get his money and be on his way. He spun around, meaning to exit, and came face-to-face with a suddenly much more threatening Scarlett, who had appeared from nowhere. She gave him a strange smile and stepped towards him, so they were nearly touching noses.

"I see you found my playroom, _Dean Winchester._" The voice, which had been so sexy and alluring just an hour before, now seemed dark and menacing. And when had he told her his surname? "Would you like to play?" She offered with a wide smile.

"No thanks." He said quickly. "I think I'll just take my money and go." She smiled even wider at that, if it was possible. A slightly hysterical-sounding giggle escaped her clenched teeth.

"See, that's the problem with you dirt monkeys. It's all. About. The m_oney._" She snarled the last word as she threw him across the room with a crashing force, allowing him to see the black of her eyes. "Now that Lucifer is risen we will eradicate your ridiculous race and I shall dance in the blood of millions! Starting with yours." She focused her crazed black eyes of his face.

"Don't you fucking touch me, you demon bitch." He bit out, ignoring the pain in his ribs from where he had hit the wall.

"Well, I was told to expect something a little more witty from you! I'm very disappointed." She laughed, walking towards him. She cupped his face in her hands, tutting when he tried to hit her. "Now let me let you in on a little secret:" She breathed, leaning forwards to whisper into his ear. "I am going to tear you into a thousand _tiny little pieces_ so that not even your precious angels can put you back together."

"Sam will find you. He'll gank you and any little demon pals you have with you." Dean hissed in reply.

"My demons are taking care of your brother as we speak. I wonder if you remember a certain barmaid?" Scarlett smiled happily at Dean's stricken look and clapped her hands in childish delight. "Now, no more chat, shall we get started?"

Xxx

Everything hurt. Dean ached from his toes, which had all had their toenails individually removed, to his head, which had been shaved and had various symbols carved into it. His throat was raw from screaming and his wrists and ankles were chafed and sore from fighting his bonds. He knew that he had at least one broken rib from being flung against the wall. The skin of his arms, legs, back and chest had been cut, burnt, whipped and flayed. Even when Scarlett was taking a break, his whole body burned.

Dean let out a low groan as he heard her coming up the stairs again. The door opened and Scarlett walked in calmly, hanging up her current jacket and trading it for the blood-splattered white coat that she wore when inflicting her pain upon Dean. She graced him with an almost warm smile as she examined his battered form.

"Looks like you're ready to go again!" She said excitedly, as though she was talking about a ride at a fairground. "Where should I start this time, honey? We've done your back," She ran her fingers lovingly along the welts as she spoke. His back had been whipped almost to shreds. "And we've done your pretty little chest," She stroked the burnt skin of his abs, licking her lips. "And we've absolutely _covered _your limbs in pretty patterns," She traced her symbols delicately. "_I _think it's time to get rid of this smart mouth now." She bent over him and pressed her lips to his. He wriggled uncomfortably, trying to escape her kiss.

"You didn't seem to mind my smart mouth last night." He whispered when she pulled away. His throat was raw and hoarse, but goddamn was it worth it. Or at least, so he thought until she laughed like she thought that he was _very cute, _which, in addition to being extraordinarily creepy, wasn't exactly doing wonders for his ego.

"Well, yes, you are very skilled with that yummy tongue," She giggled. "But you won't be leaving here to use it again, will you?"

"You know," He couldn't resist replying, "I thought you were classy once."

"And that's why we need to get rid of your tongue." She said with a smile.

She walked to the back of the room and picked up a knife, checking the sharpness on her finger, before walking back to Dean and straddling his lap. She kissed him deep and hard, and he made a point of being utterly still and unresponsive.

"Oh, come on Dean. At least make your last kiss a good one," She complained against his stubborn mouth. He shook his head once, not trusting his voice. "Well, if you insist, honey." Grabbing his jaw, she tipped him a wink before tilting his head backwards and forcing his mouth open. The knife came in slowly, cold and dangerous against his lips and tongue.

The next scream was long and wet, culminating in a choking, gagging noise as Dean tried not to inhale mouthfuls of his own blood.

Xxx

This was it. This was the end. Scarlett had left him with the promise that when she came back, it would be all over. She would tear him limb from limb with her friends. And it would be finished. No more pain.

He had thought he would be relieved, but the more he thought about it, the more unwilling he was for his life to be at an end. He needed to get to Sam goddammit. He needed to kill Lucifer. He couldn't die. Not that he would be much use right now, what with being blind and mute and very, very weak. The demon had been careful not to kill him, but she had come very close. He would probably die on his own if left for too long.

A new level of desperation gripped him. His brain began screaming _please God I don't want to die please stop her for Christ's sake you need me oh please let something happen please I don't want to die_

Then the door opened.

Dean let out a wrecked sob, waiting for the pain to escalate again. When a hand touched his arm softly, he jumped violently. The feeling of the rope being untied was a surprise, but he supposed that if they were going to tear him to pieces, it would be easier without him being tied to the chair.

"Dean?" What? Was that…? "Dean, please say you can hear me!" That was definitely Sam's voice, panicky and worried. The warm rush of relief Dean felt was welcome and refreshing. "Dean! Can you hear me?" He nodded painfully, unwilling to open his mouth and show his brother his severed tongue.

Sam sighed in relief and lifted Dean out of the chair. He exited the room carefully, trying not to jostle Dean's wounds. He didn't succeed, but Dean was grateful for the thought. "Dean, I was so worried about you. The barmaid was a demon, don't freak, I got her with the knife, and Cas showed up at the motel where I was staying and said that you were in trouble, but he couldn't get to you because they did the whole anti-angel paint job on that damn house. There were so many goddamned demons in there too, but I think I got them all… We're stepping outside now." As he said this, the cool wind hit Dean, reminding him that he was still only wearing his boxers. "I saw the Impala in the garage, so I picked up the keys from your pocket. I know you'd never forgive me if we just abandoned her in a demon nest. And Cas is just outside on the street. He'll heal you in no time."

Sam awkwardly opened the car door, trying to manoeuvre himself so he didn't have to put his brother down, and placed Dean in the back seat. His position rubbed the welts along his back, but he comforted himself with the thought that he was alive and would be healed soon.

As they backed out of the garage, Dean felt a rush of relief; he was away. He never had to see that Scarlett bitch again. Hell, she was probably dead.

Suddenly there was the familiar sound of wings and Dean assumed Cas had materialised in the car. He felt someone lean over him and then a warm hand pressed to his forehead. The prickling heat of Grace spread through him, relieving aches as though they had never been there. His nails grew back and his sight returned. The last thing he got back was his tongue. As it reformed, Dean could feel the strong muscle forming in his mouth, growing and blooming like a flower, and once the familiar weight was returned he had to fight back a moan of satisfaction.

Warm, pain-free and utterly spent, he relaxed into the familiar leather of his Baby and passed out cold.


End file.
